


cradlesong

by boundinshallows (museme87)



Series: cradlesong [2]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Kid Fic, M/M, Post Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 10:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20007046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/museme87/pseuds/boundinshallows
Summary: Tommy struggles to bond with his newborn son.





	cradlesong

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to TinyPineTrees for encouraging me to try my hand at A/B/O fics. This is totally a first for me. I love the A/B/O fics that already exist in the fandom, and I didn't want to repeat the fine work that already exists. This 'verse is heavy on the angst and awful communication skills. 
> 
> A few things to note for context:  
> (1) Alfie is an alpha, and Tommy is an omega in this 'verse.  
> (2) Alfie and Tommy are together(-ish), but they remain unmated to one another because Tommy has a lot of insecurities about losing his freedom if he becomes mated. Despite this, they're in love, but hardly want to admit it.  
> (3) An unmated m/m pregnancy in unlikely in this 'verse, but not unheard of. Increased biological compatibility increases one's likelihood for conception. Alfie and Tommy's chemistry together is stupidly perfect.  
> (4) Tommy fully intends to raise this baby on his own, regardless of what Alfie wants. He only sticks around Camden Town because Alfie has a magical bed. Also, the sex isn't that bad.

The baby wails—hot, flushed, angry—against his chest, and not for the first time in the two days since his son was born does Tommy ask himself exactly what-the-fuck was he thinking, bringing this tiny, needy thing into the world. 

His body aches miserably from the birth. He’s sore in places he didn’t even think he could _be_ sore. And swollen. And then there’s the _bleeding_ to contend with; he didn’t know a person could _bleed_ so much and still be fucking _alive_. But here he is, alive and exhausted and trying to quiet a screaming baby who has had his every need met and _then_ some. 

“Hush now,” he says in a voice that he hopes is tender and comforting.

As far as Charlie is concerned, it’s decidedly _not_.

This isn’t how Tommy had expected it to go. He’d thought that the doctor would guide the baby out of him, that he would place the wet, little newborn in his arms and announce whether it was a boy or girl. And there would be tears because he’d finally get to look into those baby blue eyes and feel the weight of the child properly in his arms. He’d rock the baby, and it would look up at him lovingly and coo sweetly.

Tommy had thought he would be _in love_ in an instant, that all those instincts that Ada and Esme had fucking carried on about would finally kick in.

The problem is that they really haven’t.

Tommy frowns.

He’s not sure he’s made for this. All those idiots who think omegas are naturally equipped to nurture—which Tommy has always thought was utter _bullshit_ anyway—would have to rethink that with one look at him and Charlie. This is not natural _at all_. It’s terrible and terrifying, and it’s all Tommy can do not to ring the nanny that Alfie insisted on hiring despite his insistence that he didn’t need a fucking nanny and that Alfie could fuck right off because he didn’t need _him_ either.

Tommy thinks both those things are a little untrue now.

He eases the baby onto the bed, Charlie’s tiny arms and legs flailing. The movement silences him for all of a moment before he starts to cry louder, as if that’s even fucking _possible_. Tommy frees him from his swaddling clothes with a heavy sigh and silent prayer. In the two days he’s been on this earth, Tommy has learned that his son hates clothing _and_ nudity. It would figure.

“I’d shove you back inside me if I could,” he tells Charlie. “You were less trouble in there. Did awful things to my back, but at least you were _quiet_.”

His cries grow sharper, and Tommy thinks that the last time his son was well and truly happy was before he was born. Maybe he misses it too; maybe that’s what all this fussing is about. He misses being jammed under Tommy’s ribs in a tight little ball and wreaking havoc on Tommy’s slight frame.

Tommy blinks, his brows drawing together. 

Charlie’s always been loud, but he was much more mild-mannered when that nanny had had him for all of an afternoon while Tommy slept off his labor exhaustion. Before he’d sworn at her and slammed the bedroom door in her face, his son _had_ seemed content. She’d had the baby wrapped up so tight that it’d made Tommy feel suffocated, and he unceremoniously unwrapped the baby and put him in his cradle where he slept for all of twenty minutes. 

“Is that it?” Tommy asks, smoothing the thin, brown hair near the baby’s ear. “Mad at living in the outside world, eh?”

Tommy lifts his son and settles him against his naked chest again. He presses him close and tucks the baby’s blanket tightly against his sides. When he folds his arms around Charlie, Tommy allows them to be heavier than he’s ever let them before. The snug contact seems to calm him, his cries dropping to angry snuffles against Tommy’s collarbone.

“Not ready for you to be out here either, just between the two of us.” Tommy kisses the baby’s forehead. “Could have stayed in there another week or so. Your father would have lost his shit, but it would’ve been alright for us, hmm.”

A few days ago, he hadn’t felt that way. He’d been ready for his child to be born, even if it had been for selfish reasons. He’d been a week overdue as it was, still swelling up and finding it impossible to sleep or get comfortable any longer.

He’d wanted the baby born so they could pack up and go back to Birmingham where his life was waiting for him—his family, his home, his business. Sometimes his mind had drifted to what life without Alfie would be like, but a swift foot to the bladder had stopped that line of thinking entirely. In those moments, Alfie’s presence felt like a small price to pay to have his body back and his almost impossible child in his arms.

Now though, Tommy isn’t so sure. 

The baby’s snuffles have softened to intermittent whines, his little breaths evening out in a way that makes Tommy think he might be falling asleep. His eyes flutter shut, and he inhales the sweet scent of his son. It’s new baby smell intermingled with his own flowering bramble, registering in Tommy’s mind as _mine_ , unmistakable now in ways that he couldn’t have imagined a week ago.

They’ve not exactly gotten on, he and Charlie, but it’s a scent that’s become as familiar to Tommy as his own. Even when he mostly thought the baby was insufferable, Tommy had never tired of his smell, so good he might get drunk off it alone.

The thought of Charlie and his sweet scent warms him, maybe for the first time. The thought of both of them uncomfortable with this new way of co-existing and longing for how it was when Charlie was beneath his skin makes him feel like maybe it’s not so hopeless.

“We’ll be alright,” he tells the baby in a whisper. “I’ll figure it out again, like I did when you were growing. Yeah, you and I, we’re going to be alright.”

And, Tommy thinks, maybe he could be a little in love after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can find me on Tumblr [here](https://boundinshallows.tumblr.com).


End file.
